


it ain't me babe

by orphan_account



Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), Joan Baez (Musician)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: just a short little inaccurate story about bob and joan I felt like writing. I'm basically just practicing different writing styles:) This ending up being kind of sad cause I was in that kinda mood.
Relationships: Joan Baez/Bob Dylan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	it ain't me babe

It ain’t me babe  
Part 1:  
It was late in the evening, most of the folks who had filled up the small coffee shop in harvard square with noise and chaos had drifted out, off to wherever they were headed, leaving bob and a couple of people left. He stretched and looked up from the grubby little notebook he’d been hunched over, scribbling furiously for hours. Bob saw an old man, two beatnik poets in a corner, and a lady at the counter wiping off mugs with a dirty rag. But it was not they who drew his interest off his writing, sitting alone at a tiny table, gazing out at the street was - no it couldn’t be, bob thought but nonetheless he approached her, “joan baez?” bob asked, his heart beating much faster than usual.

She turned around, her long brown hair swished off her shoulder, “yes?” her voice was flowery but firm. Bob swallowed hard, he couldn’t believe this was happening, the queen of folk, right here, in this cafe? He’d heard joan on the radio and seen her on the television at dave van ronk’s place; he'd never stopped thinkin about her since.  
Joan smiled curiously at the man standing in front of her, no not man more like boy, he couldn’t be any older than she was. He was cute, she thought, in a scruffy, bedraggled way, at the very least he was intriguing. She’d just started getting used to people she didn’t know talking to her out of the blue, but he, he was different.

“I’m bob, bob dylan,” he said.

“Joan baez, but then you already know that,” she reached to shake his hand.

Her delicate brown fingers sent an invisible shock wave through his whole body, bob could feel his ears burning. Their eyes met, his blue-gray, and hers dark brown, deep and dreamy. She released his hand and pointed over to where he’d been sitting.

“What were you workin on over there?” Joan asked, she was very curious, he’d been so invested in whatever it was.

“Just some songs n shit y’know,” bob mumbled, he was embarrassed for no reason. He was no woody guthrie but bob knew his music was good, for some reason he desperately wanted to know she approved of him. Suddenly joan baez meant more to him than anything else in the world.

“Well, can I see?” she was curious, Joan didn’t know what it was about him, but she knew he was special.

“Yeah, I can show you if you want,” and bob went over to get his guitar and notebook.

The two walked out into the chilly night air and over to a bench tucked away under a bear tree near a trash can. Bob was shaking uncontrollably, he didn’t know if it was cause of the cold, or his nerves, but either way it was a hard task to unzip his guitar case. He pulled out the instrument, opened his notebook and started to sing.

Joan was flabbergasted. She couldn't believe what was coming out of bob’s mouth, but it was the best thing she’d ever heard. All of her feelings about the world, worries, joys, and sorrows were pouring out of him, in his damaged, rough voice. damn, joan thought, I think I’m in love, just like that. And before she knew what she was doing, joan started singing along.

Now it was bob’s turn for a shock. She just knew what to do, just like that! He marvelled, her harmonizing was sublime, her voice souring octaves above his, and just like that, bob thought, he was in love.

Bob suddenly felt very daring, a rush of adrenaline filled him to the brim. He set his guitar down and abruptly pulled her closer till their lips met.   
Joan didn’t know what she was doing, she’d never felt like this before, as his cracked smokers lips met hers again, her hands found his thick, curly hair.

They were at a folk festival that joan had been invited to, some days earlier she had approached him.

“Bobby,” she asked, a little cautiously, “I wondered if you might wanna sing some of your songs with me y’now at the festival.”

Bob was thrilled with the offer but he played it cool, “yeah sure fuck it.”

It annoyed her a little, how nonchalant he was about everything, but it was just one of his quirks, joan knew she would learn to love that too, just as she loved the way he held his cigarette and called her ramona. 

Joan sang a song or two, but she couldn’t focus on herself, she was too excited to introduce bob. She could tell he was nervous, there was a pretty big audience, she herself had quite a bit of stage fright. When she finished singing silver dagger, joan rushed over to the side of the stage where bob stood, flicked a cigarette out of his mouth, and pulled him onto the stage, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

How childlike he looked, joan thought, standing there, so skinny you could see all his bones.

Bob was shaking like a baby, he knew he was, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he just started to sing. I sound fuckin terrible, bob thought. he hoped joan would come rescue him, and so she did. having memorized each and every one of his songs it was seamless for her to harmonize and complement his raspy voice with her clear one. Soon they were both having fun.

Joan stepped back for the last song, she knew he could do this one on his own.  
After bob was done singing, and played the last wrenching note on his harmonica, there was scattered applause.

Poor people, he thought, they came to hear ‘the beautiful voice of miss baez’ but instead got this mess. He smiled, serves em right he thought, and hugged his joni.

Joan was not surprised by the reaction, these people didn’t understand bobby, not like she did. Soon they would realize of course, they would discover the genius in him, swarm around him like wasps. but for now, and for a while, it would only be bob n joni.

Part 2:  
Bob was famous now, real famous, and he knew it, or at least he did when he wasn’t stoned, which wasn’t very often. He’d stopped smoking cause he was nervous, and started just doin it for fun.

Bob had a tour coming up, him and all his friends. He was sitting in his apartment at a typewriter, cigarette in hand talking to about a billion different people, friends and admirers when he saw her. Joan was sitting on the side of a couch facing the wall. Her arms and legs were crossed and she had a melancholy look on her face. How beautiful she looked, bob thought, he wanted to go hold her, run his fingers through her wavy hair, but he couldn’t. Bob would never tell anyone but he missed it when it was just him n joni, together against the world.

Joan was sick and tired of bob, she sat there in the corner and all the reasons to leave tumbled through her mind. She’d felt like this for a while now, bob didn’t really love her, he liked all his new friends better. They all drank and smoked pot, they were here for a good time and that’s what he wanted. He still told them to fuck off when they called her ‘virgin mary’ or ‘madonna’ but then, she thought sourly, when he was really high he would call her the same things. It’s not that joan hated drugs or anything, she’d smoked a couple of times, probably only cause bob told her to. She just wasn’t into that sort of thing, she couldn’t understand how his mind worked anymore, but then, maybe she never did.

“Joni?” bob stumbled over to her, “I’ve been thinkin you know, an I was wondering if you wanna come on tour with me? You know, I could return the favor,” he was referring to when she brought him on stage for the first time, shown him to the world.

Joan’s face lit up,”yeah alright bobby,” she beamed. Maybe it would be just like old times.

The’d played a couple of shows already, but this was a big one, bob was on stage, he’d just finished a song and the audience was going wild.

Joan stood there expectantly, waiting for him to take her hand or point to her and say, ‘ladies and gentlemen, miss joan baez.’ she ran her fingers absentmindedly through her hair, why wasn’t bob introducing her? He couldn’t have forgotten, not after he’d promised.

The show came to an end and bob hurried off stage, brushing roughly past joan on his way into the wings. He saw her face, he could tell how upset and angry she was. To be honest, he was pretty mad at himself at the moment. How could he do such a thing? Bob asked himself, what was he thinking treating her like that? He loved joan, he really really loved her, so why? Bob decided he’d just have to play it off, pretend he didn’t care, say he just forgot and that it didn’t matter anyway. After all, that’s what he was good at; pretending.

Joan walked out off the stage, tears burning in her eyes. She couldn’t cry, not in front of bobby, certainly not anywhere near his friends. Maybe he didn’t mean it, she told herself, maybe he was just too drugged up to think. But no, there was another voice now, a louder one. It was telling her to stop making excuses for bob’s bad behavior just because she loved him. Stop tolerating his patronizing comments and passiveness. If he really wanted her, the voice said, he would have called her up, no matter what.

There was one more show on the tour and bob was dreading it. He would fix this, he would invite joan to sing with him this time and all would be well. But he knew the damage had already been done. Joan hadn’t spoken to him since it happened. He wished she would have yelled at him, or stormed out, that would have made it easier. But she stayed, kept being her radiant, compassionate, self. Kept singing and plucking her guitar, conversing with everyone but him. 

Fuck, bob thought, how could he have done this? How could he lose her? 

The last gig was finally here, joan thought, it would be good to get away from all these druggies, the commotion, and him. This time she did get a chance to sing, everyone did. Bob and joan dueted on a couple of numbers, the last one being it ain’t me babe, one of joan’s person favorites.

They sang loud, each line overflowing with emotion. Bob had never sounded better, joan thought sadly. It almost felt as though he was singing the words directly to her, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, when they finished, there was a sense of finality that had never quite been there before. And though they walked off stage hand in hand, neither bob nor joan felt the spark when their fingers connected.

Bob raced through the hotel, frantically searching for joan’s room. This could not be the end, how could it be? He came to her doorway and was about to rush in, offer up countless apologies, beg her to stay. But there she was, beautiful and tall, serenely folding her clothes and placing them in a suitcase with a sad smile playing about her lips and bob found he could not bear to interrupt her, opting instead to observe.

Joan grabbed her bags, and walked out the door. She was a little surprised to see bob standing there, leaning against the wall. She needed to say something to him, to mark the end of their tumultuous love affair. Joan reached for his hand and gave it a firm shake, though the tone of her voice was gentle.

“Goodbye bobby,” she released his hand, letting it fall limply to his side then with her head held high, she continued down the hall.   
“Bye joni,” his voice followed her, that tone she knew so well sounded a little different just then. It had a trace of - what was that? Remorse maybe, that she’d never heard before. Joan lifted her hand and gave a little wave, but did not look back.

Then bob broke. He clutched his curly head in his hands and fumbled for a cigarette. Tears streamed down his face as he walked into her now empty room and threw himself down on the bed. He blindly grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it, trying to get one last little whiff of her lovely scent. Fuck, he’d ruined it, just like he ruined everything, what was wrong with him?

Bob would be fine tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that. But today, right now, in that very moment bob knew that he just lost a part of himself that he could never get back.


End file.
